


Tell Me Where It Hurts

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Alien Biology, Anger, Anxiety, Best Friends, Comfort/Angst, Concerned Ratchet, Culture Shock, Discovery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Energon, Epic Bromance, Hiding Medical Issues, Inspection, Medical Examination, Post-Mission, Rants, Reunions, Routine, Separation Anxiety, Separations, Shock & Awe, Surprises, Triple Changers (Transformers), Worry, keeping secrets, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4331586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet can tell almost as soon as the ground bridge closes that something has happened to Optimus. Something has changed him and that scares the medic, but what <em>terrifies<em> him is that Optimus isn't sharing.</em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Where It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning:   
> SPOILERS for Rescue Bots episodes - "Land Before Prime" and "Big Game"  
> MILD SPOILERS for Prime episode - "Sick Mind"

Ratchet felt something in his spark ease and stir in unison when he heard the ground bridge flare from his lab. Setting aside his tools, he kept his stride calm as he entered the computer room where the others were greeting their returned leader.

“Finally,” he muttered gratefully under his vents as he looked on. Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Arcee were all talking at once, sounding more like their human partners than mature Autobots. Optimus took it all in, answering each question patiently but shortly before looking up and locking optics with Ratchet. The medic raised his eyebrows expectantly and Optimus returned the gesture with a minute nod.

“I must report for my routine medical inspection,” Optimus proclaimed. Ratchet felt another something in his spark tense. Something was different; Optimus was still just…staring. Openly staring, and not moving.

“You know the way to the med bay,” Ratchet prompted. Optimus studied him for a few kliks before nodding once more, weaving past Bumblebee (avoiding contact with him, Ratchet noted) and approaching.

“Yes, I do.”

Ratchet’s mouth curled down a little at the corners as he stepped aside to walk next to his friend, watching him critically. Optimus’ feet were shuffling a bit unsurely and his optics remained dimmer than usual and were constantly moving, as though rememorizing these surroundings. This even before Optimus had sat on his medical berth? Usually the Prime kept any medical issue in check, at least visibly, until it was just the two of them in the privacy of the lab.

Even more concerning to Ratchet, when the doors to the bay slid closed, Optimus still didn’t reveal what the issue was. Normally he would say something to the likes of, “My left smokestack has been overheating these past few patrols” or “My heelstruts are currently rusted into position”. Right now the Prime was unsettlingly quiet.

“You know the drill,” Ratchet declared, keeping his tone airy as he turned his back, not actually looking away. When one knew Optimus as he did, they knew that this was as sure a test as any. Optimus remained standing for a minute or two before gradually, gradually making his way toward the berth and sinking down.

Though trying to act completely normal, Ratchet would admit that he pounced at Optimus then, tools ready and _very_ willing to fix the problem. Optimus knew this was Ratchet’s way after he took time away, no matter how short a time it was.

Due to Optimus’ understanding of this routine, Ratchet never would have expected Optimus to react by lurching back and then almost immediately snap himself forward again like a taut antenna let loose, taking on a _defensive_ position even though he never rose to his feet. Ratchet froze barely a foot away, wondering if this cold sensation in his chest was his spark huddling in the back of its chamber. All of his usual feelings of worry about what could happen to Optimus were being magnified by this infectious jumpiness Optimus was demonstrating.

“Are you wounded?” Ratchet asked, his voice smaller than he had wanted it to be.

Optimus seemed to realize at least to a degree what Ratchet might be thinking, so inch by inch he managed to relax. “I believe I have been depleted of energon during my travel,” he responded at last. “I am feeling the imbalance both physically and emotionally.”

Ratchet closed the gap in one step and he was quite thankful when Optimus remained still for him. “That’s the most you’ve said to me so far,” he commented with an edge in his voice that no one else could have picked up.

Optimus relaxed further under Ratchet’s careful hands, giving him a hint of a smile. “Hello, old friend.”

“Hello,” Ratchet returned, running his handheld scanner over Optimus’ internal pumps and setting aside his usual awe when he picked up the Matrix of Leadership among them. His findings were, at the moment, more important. “By the Allspark,” he gasped. “Optimus! Your energy efficiency is 30% below normal! Can you explain—?” He paused, hovering the handheld over Optimus’ lower chassis. “Can you explain…” he began again, slower and softer, “…this third form your T-cog is registering?”

Optimus’ energy-depleted optics cycled closed for a long four kliks before he opened them again and answered composedly, “I have scanned a third form, Ratchet. It was necessary. At the time, I was the Rescue Bots’ and their humans’ only hope of survival.”

Ratchet felt a spike of irrational anger and it glimmered in his optics and vocals as he countered, “They are a _rescue_ team. Endangering you _couldn’t_ have been necessary in their job descriptions.”

“Ratchet, you do not understand—”

“Optimus!” Ratchet barked again. “ _You_ don’t understand. If your energon levels had been a mere four degrees lower, you would have likely needed to be dragged into this med bay! Seven degrees lower and you wouldn’t have made it _to_ the ground bridge, much less through it! And that is you, the Prime! Whatever this third form of yours, it drains your lifeblood like an Energon Eater. If you were to attempt usage of it during a battle, I highly doubt that you would even get to Megatron before you burned out!” Tossing the handheld scanner onto the berth beside the silent Prime, Ratchet cried, “We _don’t need_ that!”

“May I make a request?” Optimus asked calmly.

Ratchet doubled his fists at his sides and released all of his vents with a sharp hiss of steam, biting out, “Yes?”

“At present, I don’t need the reminder. I am aware of the third form’s effect on my frame and state of mind. All too well aware,” Optimus pressed. “I do not intend to use it in battle, at least not until you devise a way to counter the drain it has on me.”

“And what makes you think I’ll do such a thing for you?” Ratchet snapped, not feeling at all satisfied when Optimus looked taken aback. The surprise eventually softened into something more familiar.

“Because you are a medic, Ratchet. _My_ medic and my closest friend. It isn’t news to me that you have also appointed yourself my guardian.”

Ratchet felt his fists shake slightly as he remembered the Cybonic Plague incident, his vicious vow that they all had known as true but had never heard aloud before:

“I will _not_ allow Optimus to pass, knowing that Megatron will outlive him!”

He had believed Optimus was in stasis, or at the very least delirious. He had heard that?

Finally Ratchet relaxed his hands. “It’s not news to me that you’re mine in turn, even though you haven’t said it.” Due to his standing position, he was able to put his hands on Optimus’ shoulders as he announced sternly, “You’re a self-righteous glitch and I know just as well as you do that you use cheap shots to worm your way out of trouble with me. I love and admire that about you—”

“As I love and am continually amused by the irony that you use equally cheap shots as a means to intimidate me,” Optimus countered.

“—but I will give you fair warning now,” Ratchet continued seamlessly, “that if I find you with energy efficiency this low again, I will give you more than a healthy dose of terror for it.” Refusing to give Optimus the opportunity to protest, Ratchet marched into the storeroom, retrieved two medium-grade energon cubes and handed one to Optimus, pulling himself up next to him and sipping at the second. Even during this quiet, much more comfortable time, he was assessing the Prime. He could sense Optimus’ EM field returning to its natural state and the hum of his systems rising to its proper charge.

“I am fine, old friend,” Optimus murmured when he had finished his cube. Ratchet glanced up at him, studying his optics’ returning glow and impressing the image upon his memory core as proof that what Optimus said was the truth. As long as Optimus was fine, he was too. With this third form, there simply came another part of Optimus for his medic, friend, and guardian to look after.


End file.
